


Five Years

by KindlyOnes



Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindlyOnes/pseuds/KindlyOnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hal Yorke and Nick Cutler. 1950-1955. Cutler came into his own; Lord Hal was overcome by his guilt. Six scenes depicting their relationship, beginning with Hal choosing Cutler and ending with Hal's disappearance. No slash, but as much UST as there was in the show, meaning the nature of their relationship is open to interpretation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Years

1950

Hal looked at the cell wall in front of him. He was so fucking bored. This new decade. This new century. How dreary that war had been. Too many bombs and missiles that could actually kill him for his liking. He usually loved a war. Lord Hal, that is, proper Hal, in his mind, not his bleeding-heart other self who spent his years feeling too guilty to do anything, to enjoy anything the future had to offer. Soon he would be back, the other Hal, the silly Hal. Dreary. Dreadfully dull. And he would be dull now too if he didn’t find some way to amuse himself, which is how he devised this little game that was about to be played. It had occurred to him last time the boys got a bit too boisterous in the streets, taken in, and actually charged with something that he was not satisfied with his current legal representation. No, he had spent far too much money on bribes to get the negatives for the mugshots before anyone realized there was nothing on them, judges, police, all on top of the money he was bribing his current solicitor, a human, for God’s sake, to turn his head the other way and assist in covering up their more vicious appetites.

Hal was bored, and there was nothing to liven things up like a new recruit. Oh, watching him go through it all—his first blood, his first kill, the look on his face when the last of his humanity slips away—oh, to be young again! Hal had gone on a drive one day round some nearby law offices. He and Fergus parked under the tree. Depending on how well this endeavor went, Hal might even get a new second-in-command as well as a new solicitor. Fergus was getting dull. He was a warrior, capable of committing truly shocking acts of violence, which Hal both respected and was fascinated by, but not very bright. No, as this new age where intellectualism was picking up speed, his poor soldier-boy wasn’t quite going to cut it. It wasn’t about out-fighting anymore; it was about out-thinking. He’d told none of this to Fergus, of course. No need to worry the chap. Hal was certain he could find a place for him somewhere in the outfit. A gambling ring did always need more muscle.

They circled. They parked. They watched. Hal thought this might be his favorite part: the long hunt. The merchandise was fair. Plenty of Oxford and Cambridge boys strutting about. Hal imagined it would have been Eton before that. He could tell by their gait they had spent their lives knowing they were a cut above the rest.

“How about him, then?” said Fergus, very obviously pointing a finger towards a middle-aged man in a well-tailored suit.

“No,” said Hal.

“Well, why not? Look at him. Dressed to the nines. Great salary. Probably a crackin’ solicitor. Bet he could get a bloke off before he even came up in front of a judge,” said Fergus.

“He is, as you say, dressed to the nines. He probably does earn a decent salary. Probably has family money, as well—“

“Family money! That’s excellent. We could do with a bit o’ connections, considering what we do.”

Hal gave Fergus a look that told him not to interrupt Hal again. “No, no, he’s all wrong. I have money. I’m not giving some sod eternal life to get what we already have. Look at him. Look at the way he walks. He’s used to feeling special. He thinks he’s a worthwhile person because of where he went to school, who his parents are. He’s used to being treated as powerful. We need someone more like… that one,” said Hal, gesturing to a man hurrying into a car with a stack of papers so high it was like carrying a filing box without the box. Hunched over, he fiddled with his keys before getting in. He looked over-caffeinated and underpaid. He had submissive written all over him, his slightly hunched shoulders, his downward cast eyes. “I need something I can train,” said Hal. “Someone I can teach. I don’t need some ponce from Eton thinking he’s my equal just because he has an uncle or something in Parliament.” Hal took another long look at Nick Cutler before starting the car and driving off, and thus began Hal’s latest experiment in keeping himself amused.

Weeks later, the cell door opened and in he came, just like Hal had asked for. Hal loved it when he got what he wanted. He tried to keep himself from laughing because Cutler wasn’t in on the joke yet. Oh, the anticipation was electric. Hal was truly enjoying himself. The little slip about their “family solicitor” dying a few days from now. A job offer. He was giving clues. Cutler wasn’t getting it yet. That just made it funnier. Wait for it. The punch line’s coming soon.

“Are you planning on telling me anything I can actually use in your defense?” asked Cutler. Oh. He was a little sassy. Good, good. If he’d been too subordinate and simply done everything Hal ever said he’d be like the rest of the sods he usually has following him around. No, a bit of resistance, that was what was going to make breaking him truly fun.

The cell door shuts, and Cutler’s fate is sealed.

 

1951

Hal had started to wonder if, at nearly five hundred years old, he was starting to develop Mr. Snow’s power of hypnosis. Everything Hal said, Cutler did. Well, not everything. Hal had put this theory to the test many months ago. As far as Hal could tell, Rachel was the person Cutler cared about most as a human. He wondered if it would have been more fun to play the long game, let him drown in his hunger. He could have waited for Cutler to snap. He would have felt so guilty, he would have needed blood by the gallon to keep his demons away. But Hal knew he was running out of time. How many more years exactly would he get until he was forced out, until his guilt overcame him and he had to suffer that terrible weakness, mercy, and the worst demon of all, love. No, he was on a timetable, now. Recently, he had looked at the werewolf woman they had chained up in the basement and felt a sickening pang in his stomach and chest where he usually felt a great void waiting to be filled. The women of London had suffered more than usual because of this. These sort of feelings could not be tolerated. One must drown them out with the sound of screams. One must paint over them with blood.

Cutler too felt the sting of Hal’s growing remorse. Fergus once said something funny about Hal running from something, and this frightened Cutler because he couldn’t think of anything Hal would run from. Even the other Old Ones, who sounded quite gruesome, loved him, or so Cutler gathered from the gifts sent on their behalf, begging him to join them in Brazil or Morocco. Fergus refused to elaborate. He had been increasingly hostile towards Cutler since he was starting to overtake him as Hal’s favorite. Cutler knew that even a halfwit like Fergus could tell when his time was coming to an end.

It was the little things. Who did Hal hand his coat to when he came in? Who did he trust with something really important? Who did he reward with a pretty girl tied up just for them?

Cutler remembered the first time Hal gave him a present. He didn’t know her name because she was already gagged when Cutler entered his room in the hotel where they lived. She wasn’t wearing anything except a red ribbon tied in a bow around her neck, a small card hanging off it. Good work. I found a little something for you. Enjoy. –HY

Cutler was nervous, but not as scared as she was. It was just as well. If he didn’t enjoy himself like Hal told him to, she would just go to someone else, or worse, Hal himself might even take her, and he liked doing things Cutler had never even heard of, things he didn’t know how anyone could even think to do them. As Hal’s favorite, Cutler usually got a room near Hal’s, and he could hear the screams sometimes. It used to make Cutler uncomfortable, but on certain occasions Hal would knock on the wall and call out to him, “Cutler—do you want to finish her off?” and after he did, after he pulled the last of the red from her veins, it all just seemed funny.

 

1952

Cutler was definitely Hal’s favorite, and he knew it. Fergus knew it too. Cutler could tell by the way he started bringing Hal presents, like a cat giving a dead mouse to its owner.

Fergus held up a girl, so drunk she could barely stand. Hal was watching their new television. Cutler had arranged for it to be delivered last week. Fergus shifted to get Hal’s attention. Hal ignored him.

“It’s a shame we can’t be seen on camera, otherwise you could be on the television, Lord Hal,” said Fergus, smiling. Cutler rolled his eyes. He was clearly trying to butter Hal up.

“I don’t want to be on the television,” said Hal.

“Alright, forget it,” said Fergus. “I brought you something.”

Hal held up his hand.

“If you wait five minutes, the last broadcast is nearly finished,” whispered Cutler.

Fergus just stood there, holding up that drunk girl, waiting for the television to finish. After they played the national anthem, Hal switched off the set and turned to face Fergus. Hal tightened his mouth slightly and Cutler knew his position was set. If Hal was pleased, he would have smiled.

“How old is she?” asked Hal.

“Dunno,” said Fergus. “Eighteen?”

“Looks more like sixteen to me.” Hal tutted.

“You never had a problem with sixteen before,” said Fergus.

“Look at her. She’s hardly even a woman yet. She’s all… flat,” said Hal, gesturing to her chest. “I never minded sixteen before because I never picked the fruit before it was ripe. It’s a waste. Better to come back in a few years when she’s developed all her womanly charms.”

“She probably doesn’t even know how to please a man,” said Cutler, taking out his notebook. “Where did you get her? Any witnesses I have to clean up?”

Hal laughed. “I told you it was a waste. Really, Fergus, you are too old for this. Take her downstairs, put her blood in a decanter, and bring some glasses.”

Fergus’ face fell. Hal was treating him like a steward. Fetching glasses. He’d been with Hal for over a hundred years. Not all of them, of course. Hal liked to pop off for a few decades to do who knows what, until he turns up on his doorstep asking if Fergus would like to fight in a war against the werewolves. As if he could say no. He’d faced down dogs for that monster, with their filthy smell and their poison blood. Like it mattered. Soon Hal would pop off again and Fergus wished he could take a picture of Cutler’s face when he realized Hal had abandoned him so he could savor it forever. Give it another half-century and Hal would turn up on Cutler’s doorstep, asking him to do something stupid, and then Cutler would be fetching decanters.

 

1953

Cutler had thought he’d seen Hal throw a party. Every full moon they had a werewolf was a party, but not like this. A week ago Hal had received a telegram from Ivan saying he and his wife would be travelling through England on their way from America to continental Europe. Cutler had heard Hal speak of Ivan, and Cutler was glad he was passing through quickly. He had gotten used to being Hal’s favorite and it was clear Hal was very fond of Ivan.

Ivan arrived two days before the full moon. Cutler was there when Ivan arrived at the house they were staying at. Hal insisted they move their residences and places of business frequently, and Cutler wasn’t sure if it was a security measure or if Hal was just easily bored. He was approaching the big five-hundred, and Cutler made a mental note that he should arrange the greatest birthday party the world had ever seen when it came around in a few decades. It occurred to him that he didn’t know when Hal’s birthday was, or if they even celebrated birthdays when he was born. Maybe they still did saint’s days. Cutler wasn’t concerned. He had decades to figure it out.

After a big to-do at Hal’s with cocktails and anyone who was anyone in the vampire world of Britain, as well as a few who had travelled from the continent, Ivan, Daisy, Hal, and Cutler proceeded to a private room at a supper club. Noticeably absent: Fergus.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for dispensing with the traditional feast. I took the liberty of inviting our guests to pay tribute at the dogfight,” said Hal in the car on the way over to the restaurant.

“Oh, you know I don’t stand much on protocol. We’ll make a night of it. Dinner and a show. And whatever else they brought. You can keep anything too big to put in a suitcase. Daisy and I like to travel light,” said Ivan.

“Yes,” said Hal. “All the fuss does grow tiresome.”

“You should travel through America,” said Ivan. “Half the vampires don’t even know who we are. I had several firmly insist to me that Lord Harry is a myth. They said there were no Old Ones.”

Hal laughed, short and sharp.

“If you want anonymity, you’ll find it there. Start a new life, should a different mood strike you,” said Ivan pointedly.

Cutler watched Ivan closely. This wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned Hal’s change in “moods”. Sometimes people talked about him like he would be going away soon, and none of them would ever explain what they meant. He didn’t like it. It was like everyone knew something about Hal that he didn’t. He thought he would just follow Hal if he wanted something different. He wondered if he would be a solicitor in America or get a new job, since he wasn’t qualified to practice American law. Perhaps he should study up.

“I suppose they don’t remember my visit to New Orleans. That was before you were born, Ivan. A filthy, stinking city, but a vampire’s paradise,” said Hal.

“I toured through the South with our old friends after their Civil War, but you had business elsewhere,” said Ivan.

“Mm,” said Hal, and his face tightened. Ivan didn’t mentioned Hal’s extended disappearances again.

“Ivan and I saw it all. Coast to coast. We went to Hollywood and saw where they make the films,” offered Daisy. She sat next to Cutler in the back with her legs apart, smiling too brightly, and Cutler thought she might be a madwoman. She seemed like fun.

On the way in, Cutler tried to make conversation with Daisy. “What’s it like being a vampire’s wife?”

Daisy laughed like he’d said something funny and said, “What’s it like being Hal’s wife?”

Before Cutler could answer, Ivan said, “Come along, sweetheart,” and held out his arm. Daisy smiled that too bright smile again and skipped ahead to meet him.

Hal saw Cutler’s face and said, “Apparently she’s quite rambunctious. Don’t take it to heart. This is a night of celebration!” Hal smiled widely. It was one of his genuine grins, which he had been making less and less frequently. He could look a bit goony sometimes, with his mouth stretching from ear to ear, which, Cutler had noticed, stuck out a bit more than normal, but one only noticed this if one spent time studying his face, perhaps while he was asleep. When awake, his whole body radiated power and charm that enchanted almost all women and some men.

The next night there was a larger dinner with the most important vampires who had come to greet Ivan. The night after was the full moon and Cutler saw what paying tribute to the Old Ones meant for the first time. Mostly it meant blood. Specifically, the blood of beautiful women, some of whom seemed to be there willingly. There were a dozen French ladies in exotic outfits who offered their wrists and their necks to Ivan and Hal, who tasted some and sent others away to other important vampires. A vampire Cutler had never seen before brought a group of geishas—or at least a group of Japanese women dressed as geishas—who poured blood delicately from teapots. Someone else had brought a selection of animals from India; another, a crate of illuminated manuscripts in Latin. And of course, more humans for them to feed from, even a handful of men, because many vampires, as it turned out, grew quite experimental over the ages with their sexual appetites. It made Cutler uncomfortable. They didn’t do that sort of thing where he was from, but Hal had once told him he didn’t have to do anything with the men that were sometimes brought around if he didn’t want to, which was unusually kind of him, since Hal had once reveled in making Cutler do things he didn’t want to. He once met a vampire named Carl who made a pass at him, but didn’t seem terribly offended when Cutler declined. He said one day Cutler might find himself curious, but there was plenty of time for that.

The fights took place in an old jazz club that had shut down during the war. The cage took up most of the dance floor. Hal sat at his usual table in a balcony with the best view, and it was a big deal in vampire society to receive an invitation to sit with him. Cutler was always invited to Hal’s box, and even more than the blood, the booze, the women, and the fights, Cutler enjoyed sitting up there, being seen by everyone to be a very important person.

 

1954

Hal was being weird. Cutler walked in one night to find him absolutely wasted on blood and alcohol and wiping the blood off a dead woman’s body. From outside the door, Cutler thought he heard him say, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Cutler hadn’t knocked. He wasn’t just Hal’s protégé anymore; he was his best mate. When Hal turned around and saw him, he grew angry and threw the body across the room. He didn’t seem mad at Cutler though, and he was grateful for that. Sometimes Hal grew terribly cross and took it out on him.

Hal just smiled and pointed to a carafe on a side table. “Fetch me that, would you? My legs aren’t working so good. Pour yourself a glass.” Cutler knew Hal was gone if he was letting his grammar slip like that. Cutler did as he was told and sat down next to Hal on the floor by the foot of his bed. Hal took the carafe in hand and drank it all down. His head lolled to the side and he looked at Cutler.

“Do you miss your wife?” he asked.

Cutler stiffened. “No,” he said. It was the correct answer. Hal had asked him this before. He used to ask it a lot, to try and drive him harder, wash the humanity out of him like a stain. It had worked at Cutler’s insides until there was a callous, and Cutler found that he didn’t really miss his wife anymore. She had been older than he and they’d never conceived a child. She used to get so sad and take it out on Cutler, saying he worked so late too many nights and that he wasn’t trying hard enough. He smacked her once for shouting at him, and she threw supper all across the floor and locked herself in their bedroom. Cutler took a long drink from the blood in his glass. It was easier to remember her this way. Not smiling sweetly from the bed. Not covered in blood in a basement.

“Why not?” asked Hal.

“That was the old me. She wasn’t my wife anymore, not really. She was just holding me back. She wanted stupid things like children and a new sewing machine. She couldn’t see the big picture. Just as well. She was just a human.”

Cutler expected Hal to look pleased like he usually did when Cutler gave that answer. Instead he looked disappointed. “We could have recruited her.”

Cutler laughed nervously, possibly even bitterly. “Yeah, well, that ship sailed a while ago. C’mon, Hal. Vampires don’t have wives.”

“Ivan and Daisy…” said Hal, which, in his drunken state, he considered to be an argument.

“Well let’s go dig Rachel up and pour some blood in her mouth and see what happens!” shouted Cutler.

Hal blinked, and then he smiled. “I had a bottle of whiskey…”

Cutler made a face but looked around anyway. “It’s under the bed.”

“Will you… for me…” Hal gestured vaguely. God, he was drunk.

“No,” said Cutler flatly.

Hal flopped over and stuck an arm under the bed. His fingers brushed it, but it rolled away. “Please…”

“No. Just walk over to the other side of the bed and get it. I’m not your butler.”

Hal giggled. He had that goony look about him again, the one Cutler only saw when they were alone, all ears and nose and mouth. “Butler. Cutler the butler…” Hal hit his head on the bed trying to crawl out.

“Yes. You’ve made a rhyme. If I get your bottle will you let me put you in the bed?” asked Cutler.

“Oh, Cutler. I thought you’d never ask.” Hal held his hands up and smiled.

Cutler pulled him up. He noticed Hal wasn’t wearing a shirt. He wondered why he noticed. Hal was frequently shirtless in his bedroom. He’d seen Hal naked as the day he was born before. Such is the way of things when you got up to the stuff Hal and Cutler did. Hal leaned against the bedpost and Cutler went to get the bottle. He hadn’t had nearly as much to drink as Hal, and he bent down and retrieved it easily. He set it on the night table and walked back to Hal. He managed to get him walking by bracing him around his shoulders. He’d done this before. Hal was a man who never did anything halfway. Excess was just the way they lived.

Hal reached for the bottle and opened it. Cutler wondered if he would throw up. He’d never seen Hal throw up before. He was born before you could get clean water out of the taps and everyone drank beer. The man could hold his booze.

Cutler sighed. Hal was acting so strange. He would get into these sullen moods and then one day he would be the same old Lord Hal again. Not that Cutler had to call him that. They were mates. “Is there something bothering you… that we should talk about, or something?” he asked.

“Don’t ask me things like that. Take a drink.” Hal handed Cutler the bottle. He took a long gulp. If Hal was going to be like this, Cutler was going to need a drink.

“Should I go to bed?” asked Cutler.

“If that’s what you want,” said Hal.

Cutler shifted, uncertain. “I have stuff in the morning. I have to go to court. I’m pretending to be a human solicitor, remember?”

“Then go to bed.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

Hal groaned, closing his eyes and sinking deeper into the bed. He put his hands over his face, like his head hurt. “Stop asking me all these bloody questions. Just go do whatever you want. You don’t need my permission to piss, Cutler. Just… sod off.”

And Cutler did as he was told.

 

1955

Hal stood in the cellar in front of a man chained to the wall. His name was Leo, like a lion, but he was a wolf. Hal told him about his mothers. He never told anyone about that. He was just drunk, he told himself, and this man was about to go to his sixth fight. Not much longer now.

When Leo told him about his dream, working all day, having a beer, living by the sea, Hal felt something inside of him break, and he knew it was over. He’d been holding his finger in the crack in the wall like the little boy from Holland, holding back the water. The guilt was seeping in, bringing mercy with it. He couldn’t do it. He heard footsteps in the hallway. He could give this man his dream. He had money, certainly enough to buy a barbershop.

“This is the moment, Hal. What you do now is going to change everything.”

Could he do it? If he just stood there, said nothing, they would come and take this werewolf away and Hal could carry on.

“Here it comes.”

 

Cutler sat upstairs in Hal’s box. He checked his watch. “Where are Hal and the boys? They went to get that dog ten minutes ago. It’s five minutes to full moon.” Cutler stood up. This was no good. This just wouldn’t do. No one else in the box answered. They just drank from their glasses and tried not to look nervous. “Fine. Fine,” said Cutler. “I’ll just do everything myself.”

He walked downstairs, nodding at all the vampires who greeted him. Hangers on, they were. They just came hoping Hal would notice them. They were just here for the free drinks. He stepped quickly down the stairs to the cellar, passed the crates of alcohol until he reached the last door. It was open. Cutler slowed down, checked his watch again, and called out. “Hal? Guys? Are you still down here? Look, it’s five minutes to moonrise…”

No one answered, so Cutler stepped forward. It wouldn’t do to look afraid. He would handle this. The show must go on. He stepped into the room and took in what he saw.

The room was empty. Well, sort of. There weren’t any people in it, neither vampire or werewolf. Instead, there was a smashed crate on the floor, the splintered wood scattered about, and three piles of ash. Cutler felt sick. He stepped back. His foot hit a wine bottle that clattered back against the wall. The suits. He could check the suits. What was Hal wearing? No… those weren’t his shoes, filled with ash. That cheap brown suit wasn’t his either. No… he had been wearing a white shirt. He’d undone his bowtie… and the last pile of ash had a blue shirt. He turned around in a circle. Where was the wolf? His foot hit that blasted bottle again. The noise rang in his head. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

Where had Hal gone?


End file.
